


Straws Drawn

by respoftw



Series: 30 prompt OTP challenge - McShep [11]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: Teyla and Ronon get tired of watching John and Rodney dance around each other.  Straws are drawn on who gets to help them make a move.





	Straws Drawn

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #11: wearing leather

“Seriously?” Rodney looked at Ronon, aghast. “In what world - no - in what _galaxy_ do you see me agreeing to wear _those_?” Rodney gestured disbelievingly at the hand stitched leather trousers that were splayed across his bed. The leather trousers that Ronon had turned up at his door with not five minutes ago. The ones that he was insisting Rodney wear to movie night.

Ronon shrugged, unconcerned. “The galaxy where you want Sheppard to make a move on you,” he answered. “Which is this one. So quit whining and put the damn trousers on McKay.”

Ronon picked the trousers up and threw them at Rodney. Fumbling, Rodney caught them in his arms, too stunned by Ronon’s words to do much more than gape at him. The leather was softer than he expected it to be, almost buttery soft against the rough callouses of his palms.

He wanted to shout at Ronon, to rant and snark and tell him just how very wrong he was but it had been four years. Four years of being careful not to let his feelings show, four years of watching as Sheppard Kirk’d his way around the Pegasus galaxy (even if he very rarely made it past the flirting stage; Rodney never had understood John's low home run rate). Four years of wanting and waiting and pretending that anyone else could ever do it for him. Four _long_ years. Rodney was tired of it. Bone tired. The kind of tired that usually meant a crash was coming.

He never had been one to crash quietly.

Rodney paused on his way to the bathroom to change. “You really think these’ll work?”

Ronon’s grin always disarmed Rodney, shaving years off the former runner and reminding Rodney just how young Ronon was. “I'm only gonna say it once, McKay, but you have a great ass. Trust me. You wear these and he won't be able to help himself.”

Rodney couldn't help but preen a little bit. He knew his ass was one of his better features but it was always nice to hear it from someone else. And Ronon knew hot, what with the height and the hulking muscles and the leather and - - doubt started to creep in.

“I'm not too old for leather pants, am I? Or too,” he searched for the diplomatic word, the one he used in front of the mirror most mornings, “…stocky? I mean, leather looks good on you and  Teyla and it would look amazing on John.” Rodney got distracted thinking about John in leather for a second before coming back to his point. “But me? I - -“

“McKay,” Ronon interrupted gruffly. “I made these myself, ok? I'm not doing this to make you look bad.”

Rodney looked at the trousers anew, impressed with the skill that must have went into them. He supposed that Ronon had been on his own long enough that he'd picked up the skill somewhere and, really, he should have stopped being surprised at the depths of Ronon that time he'd caught him writing poetry of all things.

Still, something niggled at him.

“Why _are_ you doing this?”

Ronon grinned again, sensing victory in the air like the hunter he was. “We drew straws. Now go change. We’re supposed to be there in ten minutes.”

———

Rodney couldn't stop looking at himself in the mirror.

Ronon was right. His ass looked amazing.

“Three minutes, McKay.” Ronon pounded on the door.

Rodney took one last look, swallowed, and pushed open the door.

Ronon looked pleased. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s see if John agrees.”

— — —

Rodney stopped dead in the doorway as he and Ronon arrived at Teyla’s quarters for movie night. Some things were never meant to be seen.

Ronon walked into the back of him, took one look at John waiting on the couch, and almost keeled over from laughing. “Aren't you glad I got the Rodney straw?” he managed to wheeze in between peels of laughter.

“Why are you laughing? Pay him no heed, John. I think the colour becomes you very well.” Teyla patted an uncomfortable looking John on the shoulder as she glared at Ronon.

Rodney ignored the both of them, walking straight over to John, taking him by the hand and pulling him out the room.

“Where are you taking him?” Ronon called after them.

“My room,” Rodney yelled back. “And neither of you are invited.”

“Alright,” he heard Ronon exclaim, “it worked.”

Leaving Teyla’s room behind as he herded John into the nearest transporter, John looked at him, disbelief written all over his face. “This worked?” he asked. “You actually like this?”

“God, no.” Rodney shuddered. “I'm taking you to my room to fix it.”

John looked relieved. “Thank God,” he breathed. “For the record though, I like the pants.”

Rodney grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” John nodded.

“How much do you like the pants?” Rodney was feeling brave, maybe it was the leather.

John grinned in answer. “Enough that I'm very torn about my growing need to peel you out of them.”

Oh God.

They'd finally arrived at Rodney's quarters and Rodney pulled John through the door. “I like that thought. A lot. But first I gotta..”

John nodded. “Fix me first, then we can…we've waited four years, right?”

Right. They'd waited four years. What was the length of a hair dye?

The leather pants may have been a success but John as a blonde?

Not so much.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. Idek. It's been a long day ::snorts:: have some ridiculousness!


End file.
